DGray Man Advent Calendar
by picaropicara
Summary: Exactly what it says on the festive biscuit tin. 25 days, 25 Christmas-themed ficlets in the DGM world...
1. Gift

**1st December - Present/Gift**

Toy trains steamed and chugged their way around a room filled with chattering children, pointing and staring at the elaborate pathways, lined with toys of every size and description. Wooden soldiers, arms outstretched and carefully regimented directed harassed parents into the obsequious care of the shop assistants, barely hiding their greed behind the company mandated smiles as they offered to find the perfect present for their grinning, grabbing children. Women dressed like fairies demonstrated their toys to the awe of their youngest shoppers, rewarding their allegiance with gingerbread and sweets. The scene almost breathed carefully orchestrated capitalist ideals of warmth, comfort, joy and love. It was enough to make one feel violently sick.

Condensation blurred the nauseating view as Road leaned closer to scrutinise the toy animals in the window with the air of a jeweller examining a diamond ring for flaws. Her eyes moved from one to the next in a brooding examination as if morally judging everyone for the sins of its maker. Occasionally she pointed one out to Tyki, who drew it through the window and passed it over to her for closer observation, deft fingers finding flaws in every nuance of expression, or material or craftsmanship.

"None of these are good enough." Road declared and crossed her arms in frustration, turning away from the window and back to her companion. Tyki leaned on the wall, cigarette glowing in the growing dusk, dropping ash into the piling snow banks, boredom inherent in every delicate flick of his fingers.

"I really don't think you should be getting a gift for an Exorcist, Road. What would the Earl say if he knew?"

Road stuck out her tongue with a grimace. "I don't care what the Earl says. Allen is different... he's special. He screams the best." She sighed at the memory. "You like him too, you can't deny it."

"Yes, but I don't think it really calls for a gift. Giving gifts is usually a sign of love, for the family, or for friends or lovers."

"I know that. Don't patronise me." She scowled and clawed a handful of snow from the windowsill viciously. "But I miss him. I want him to miss me. It's been so long he's probably forgotten all about me... How much I hurt him." Her tone expressed exactly no remorse, the lips of her mouth curling up in a smug smile. "Giving him a present means he'll be thinking about me."

Tyki crushed the spent cigarette into the snow with a hiss, twisting it delicately to avoid begriming his gloves. "Considering his vow to kill our family, I'm not entirely sure I would want him thinking of you." After a cursory inspection of his reflection in the window he began to move off down the street, past the other rejected purveyors of presents.

"You could kill one of his friends. Then he'd be thinking about you." He offered, after a few moments of disgruntled silence and dark glares from the girl behind him. He paused to tip his hat at a woman who'd overheard him, smiling in an unsettlingly polite manner until she looked away, mumbling an apology for staring.

"Yes. Give him the head of one of his friends, scarred with your mark." He got more enthused about his subject, tapping his gloved finger against his chin as if in deep thought. "In fact, just give him some more scars. They're close, personal, and with your talent each one is a work of art."

Road smiled in delight as she fell into step next to him, preening at his compliment. She slipped her hand into his and leaned against him in silent encouragement.

Smiling, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her palm. "Perhaps some on his hands, to match the Time-witch?" She giggled indulgently as he began to trace crosses on her palms.

"Perhaps one right here..." she reached up and took his face in her hands, pressing her thumb lightly, then viciously into his cheekbone. "Like a little kiss." Suddenly she moved back and danced away, whirling in front of him as the snow began to fall.

"On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me... a severed hand just for me."

He grabbed her hand as she danced through the portal, joining her morbid approximation. "On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me... two razed towns and a severed hand just for me..."

* * *

Allen dreamed of the smell of warm wax and Christmas spices, smiling in his sleep at the imagined celebration. Lavi was the first to see him, breaking into his room and jumping on his bed until he woke up. Lenalee stood in the doorway, politely covering her giggles with one hand as Lavi pummelled and bullied him out of bed and into the cold corridors to run down to the giant tree in the foyer. Lenalee pushed him towards his present, a giant box that took up most of the space. Eagerly he pulled away the ribbon, the paper falling away to reveal a coffin-shaped box. He jumped back in shock, falling into Lenalee. She smiled prettily as she fell forward, shirt falling open to reveal a sucking wound that spattered scalding blood onto his face and into his mouth as he screamed and screamed amongst the falling bodies of his companions.

Road leaned forward, knees crushing into his elbows as she rested her head on his chest. Her lips covered his, muffling his cries. One hand twined through his hair, the other traced her name on his shoulders with ever-harder lines. Above them, her candles quivered and shook with every thrashing, terrified kick, sending drops of wax to burn his cheeks and eyes like kisses, like snowflakes.

* * *

_**A/N: ****Welcome to my new project! I've had this one in mind since August, it's quite a relief to finally start it. Hope you enjoy it and if you have any requests or ideas for themes feel free to drop me a line. One day down, 24 left to go... feeling festive yet?**_


	2. Snow

**2nd December - Snow**

Kanda held snow in as much disdain as he did pretty much everything else. One could go so far as to say that he hated snow. He found it pointless, annoying and an obstruction to his duties, as he growled to anyone who dared ask his opinion on the subject. So anyone who cared assumed he hated it and that was the way he liked it.

In truth though, it fascinated him, drew his attention and even, maybe, delighted him. This of course merely annoyed him more. Of course trudging through it to get to the site of the latest mission was horrible, and trying to fight in it was worse, but still, he secretly enjoyed it. The wonderful muted texture of snow at night, the way it had it's own sound on the very edge of hearing, the sharp taste that caught in his throat in the morning and the peaceful purity it threw over a world darkened by many bitter things.

He could still remember the first time he saw it, remembered being breathtaken by the scene, by the way the flakes melted in the steamy paths of his breath and the way he felt so dizzy, so small, and so perfectly enclosed when he looked up to the clouds and the whirls and flurries that seemed centred around him. It made him want to fling his arms out and welcome it into the world. Of course he never did, that would have been remarkably melodramatic and quite silly. It was just glorified ice after all.

He stood on the balcony of their hotel room, watching the delicate flakes dance down, marvelling that it was something so small and dainty as this that had trapped them in this mountain backwater for the past two days. It was nothing short of a miracle that cold water had such strength and yet could be destroyed by a rise in temperature of merely a degree or two. He raised one gloved hand to catch one, inspect it, find the source of whatever it was that made it so beautiful to him.

"What's wrong Yu? Never seen snow before? Don't worry, it's not dangerous, you don't have to kill it."

Of course the one person in the world who would notice his strange affiliation with snow would also be the one person in the world most likely to annoy him about it. The Bookman boy winked, tongue out in jest, shattering the happy silence. Kanda dropped his hand and stared moodily ahead.

"I know what snow is. And don't call me that."

"Did you catch hypothermia or something? No threat of imminent death? No waving Mugen around?" Lavi pantomimed extreme worry, pretending to fuss about him catching a cold.

"No, but you're tempting me." He growled over his shoulder, growing frustrated at the invasion of his moments of contemplation. Wonderfully, this seemed to shut Lavi up but had the unfortunate side effect of him walking over to lean beside Kanda, trying to see what had made him so calm and thoughtful.

"Amazing that it's so beautiful in the sky, but so deadly on the ground." Kanda blinked, surprised to hear him talk after several minutes of silence. In truth, he had half forgotten that Lavi was there, enraptured with the way the snow flurried over the curves of the roofs and into the forgotten crevices.

"Hmm."

Several more minutes passed before Lavi spoke again, this time staring at Kanda's face.

"You actually _like_ this stuff don't you?"

"Ridiculous. It's a weather form, there's nothing to _like_ about it. Beyond that, it's the reason I'm stuck here with you."

"You _do_. Seriously, you get this weird little smile when you look at it." Lavi was grinning at him now, a sure sign that trouble would follow. "That and you've been standing out here staring at it for about an hour now."

"It's either this or stare at the floor all evening. I'd rather get some fresh air. Alone."

"Relax! I'll leave you alone now anyway... I'm going to go downstairs and make you a snow girlfriend!" He dodged an anticipated sword swing and danced towards the door, pulling a ridiculous face.

The snowball caught Lavi by surprise, sending him stumbling forwards in shock. He turned an accusing finger on Kanda, only to find his back turned, feigning innocence.

"Y...you threw a snowball at me, jerk!"

Kanda stared up at the dark, broody clouds, with the smallest of smiles.

"Tch. Like I'd waste the effort."

* * *

_**A/N:**** On the second day of Christmas, your author brings to you... Kanda being a girly jerk. The important part of that statement is the 'jerk' bit.  
**_


	3. Nostalgia

**3rd December - Nostalgia**

Miranda sat alone in the dining hall, resting her chin in her hands as she watched a group of scientists discussing the physics of decorating an eight foot Christmas tree, Reever deliberately ignoring any of Komui's suggestions about using Komurin IV: Tinseltron. The sharp smell of fir covered even the smells wafting out of Jerry's kitchen, tickling her nose and making her giggle and sneeze every now and then.

"Why don't you go help?" Allen slid into the seat beside her with a smile.

"Oh I'd just get in the way. It's still fun to watch though. Reminds me of my family. I always have good memories of this time of year."

"We used to have trees just like that one... smaller, but so thick with branches we could hardly carry it. We walked right out to the forest to pick one, my mother would wrap me up warm and put me on the sled so I wouldn't get tired."

"My parents never let me decorate the tree though. Our decorations were so old and delicate, almost family heirlooms. But my father used to sit me on the floor in front of the tree so I could tell him where to put things. We always saved the star until last."

Jeryy placed a hot drink in front of them and she sipped gratefully.

"Glühwein! Oh how wonderful! Now this brings back memories..."

Allen sniffed and rejected it, shuddering at the thought of alcohol on this day of all days.

She smiled to herself at the thought. "What about you? It's your birthday as well isn't it? You must have had a good time."

Allen's head sunk to the table in gloomy remembrance. "Not really. Master was drunk most of the time and he always got _more_ flamboyant with money around Christmas so I spent most of my time working."

"Oh, Allen!" Miranda wrapped him in a hug that almost threw him off balance and off his chair. "We'll make you some happy memories this year."

"That's alright Miranda...ah -"

She pulled him out of his seat determinedly and started to make her way to the kitchen.

"First, hot chocolate and gingerbread. The only way to start Christmas!"

Allen followed, laughing as he fell over his feet, caught up in her enthusiasm for the day.

* * *

_**A/N:**__** Short and sweet tonight goodfolk, I've been packing to head home for a few days. Updates will continue, with the aid of my lovely beta timydamonkey**_. _**So I will see you on Monday.**_


	4. Bells

**4****th**** December - Bells**

Bells. Everywhere he went, he heard the bells. In the day, the constant jingling of the bells on the horses' harness, little hand bells rung by playing children. When night fell and the people in the villages disappeared from the streets, it started again, the call to prayers, the call to Mass, the great ups and downs of the brass bells from the churches. The tolls, each toll a headache, a heartache to him, as much as they were a sign of joy, of communion and of community to those who rang them.

He remembered a time, long ago, hidden in a belfry in the midst of a storm. How the bells, although silent, seemed to hum in anticipation of their sounding. His hand fell to sketching the scene from his mind. A high angle, the curve of a bell, and almost obscured in the corner, a young man, huddling away from the cold.

He had always found bells beautiful, their slopes and planes and the sharp, brilliant tones that could be rung from them. He himself had no art with them, could not hope to replicate the beautiful sounds of professional carillonneurs, had no chance to try his hand at the rustic tolling that echoed in his thoughts now.

The pencil moved, drawing in the shadows, the way the light fell on the bell, on the man's face. It was only when he finished that he realised it wasn't a portrait of him as a young man, braving that winter oh so long ago. The pencil hovered over the page, fingers shaking almost imperceptibly. The indifferent smirk on the man's face seemed to soften and dim in the fast-fading winter light. Expectant, almost.

He lifted a clean page and set down his hand again, in quick fast strokes laying down the memories of bells. A jester's hood at a rakish angle, above an insouciant grin, thin fingers pointing out of the frame of the image. Laughter. A bell nestled in the curve of a shoulder, the man asleep, mischievous in potentia. The humming of a silent bell.

When night fell again he walked through the snow-covered streets, waiting for the bells to start. The first was faint, an echo down from higher up the valley. Time seemed to stop as it pealed, on the very edge of hearing. Then came sounds from the closer villages, filling the pauses in the tolls with their own brassy notes.

There he was, before him again, standing nonchalantly by a lamppost. Theodore smiled and lifed a hand at him, slow in the cold. The shade laughed and waved in kind, dropping his football and kicking it past him, dancing forward to receive its rebound. It wasn't real, Theodore knew this, but in the magic of the bells it seemed anything could be possible. Once again he could hear the comic tinkle of the jester bell, flying manically behind the memory made form.

The final bells began to ring, pouring from the crowded church by the snowy green.

For a few more fleeting moments the shade of the boy danced in the snow, pulling faces and laughed a silent laugh as hundreds of bells, real and not, poured their golden notes into the world.

* * *

_**A/N: Hi guys. I've taken over the update reins for the next three days while picaropicara lacks access to a computer. The only difference this should really mean for you guys is that you might be waiting a while on review replies, as, obviously, I won't be doing those as it's her stories, not mine. :) She'll be back on Monday, so worry not! **_


	5. Angels

**5****th**** December - Angels**

Ease didn't go to church. His companions felt uneasy in them, came for the charity and left soon after, begged outside their gates and sometimes slept in their outhouses, but they were never comfortable there and moved on soon after. But he remembered bits and pieces from the times he was there, strains of music, little phrases. And the angels.

They confused him, scared him at first. In the dim lights and the high vaults they looked cold, angry, mutated and deformed, wings weapons and faces vengeful. But they were beautiful. Every time they passed a statue, his hands itched to reach out and touch them, feel the curve of the stone wings, lay a hand on their perfect faces.

He almost got his wish one night, holed up in a dilapidated shack that leaned against the churchyard wall. It lay there in the straw, moss and lichen obscuring most of its features, a cracked and abandoned statue, obviously victim to some renovation of the church next door. The men swore and grumbled as they debated what to do with it, eventually shifting it into a dry patch just outside the door. He longed to touch it, to pull the moss away from its face but when he reached out for it one of the older men knocked his hand back, telling him to leave it be.

That night he dreamed that the statue came alive, that it glowed with a fierce green light that softened and sharpened its features as it demanded, begged and pleaded that Ease came to it, helped him. It raised its sword and beat its wings and cried out as if fighting a terrible, unseen battle. Ease hesitantly reached out a hand towards it, felt the pull dragging him from his sleep, from his usually pleasant dreams...

He was awoken by a terrible cry, a cry that seared his heart and bones and left him gasping. Nauseous and unsteady, he clambered over the alarmed men beside him and collapsed into the fresh air, retching at the sudden feeling of loss. His hands pushed into the dirt as he coughed until he fell, catching his forehead on something sharp.

A blank, angry eye stared back at his from the shattered plane of the angel's face. A jagged scar tore its forehead in half down to its mouth, hairline cracks running over its cheeks like angry tears. Blood dripped from his own head onto its, like a brutal baptism.

The screaming started from somewhere beyond his rational thought, loss and terror turning into sobs that shook his little body. Warm arms wrapped around him from behind, a hand rubbed his back and soothed his shakes, a man's voice whispering calming words near his ear.

The new figure pulled him away from the sight, back into the doorway of the outhouse where his companions were crowded suspiciously, armed and thin-lipped. An easy grin stretched the newcomer's face as he signalled his lack of weapons.

"Hold hard, friends, I'm not here to start a fight." He began to explain that he'd been intending to sleep in the shed when he came across some animal attacker. He pointed to dark blood in the grass and smiled as the men nodded and agreed amongst themselves.

Ease struggled to focus on the face above him, a calm, friendly counterpoint to the stone horror lying in the grass behind him.

"W-who are you?"

"Me? I'm your guardian angel, kid."


	6. Hibernate

**December 6****th**** - Hibernate**

It was getting cold above ground again. Fou could feel it touching the edges of her perception, sinking into the walls and foundations of her body-home and chilling her skin in the evening. It annoyed her so, made her sluggish and slow – not lax in her duties, just slower to respond, to react. To her it seemed to penetrate the air even down in the under passageways of the Head Quarters where she increasingly found herself wandering at night.

The walkways were always busy and full of people at this time of year, the infirmaries full of those who fell victim to the common cold. She had spent some time in there overseeing the work of the nurses, curious at the human tendency to fall ill. She began to recognise symptoms for the common cold and regarded them curiously.

The muscular spasms of the sneeze and cough, the irritation of the airways. Although her physical body never became ill she found it relatable, equatable somewhere in herself to the way the cold breeze seemed to scratch at her skin and whistle down the corridors. The tiredness and fatigue seemed equivalent to the dull ache she felt when she wandered, the way she didn't seem to be able to shake herself fully awake.

The time was drawing near, she could feel it. As Head Quarters sped up, so she slowed down. So it was every year, and always had been. It crept up on, faster each time, the need to curl up in the deep, warm heart of the complex and just sleep, sleep until the warmth spread through the ground again.

She fell asleep in Bak's arms one night, curled close and safe next to him, and she didn't wake. With no small measure of sadness the Supervisor gathered her up, suddenly sombre in the midst of the festive spirit. A small retinue gathered behind him as he walked down to her chamber, a small group of thankful people, gently pressing their fingertips to her cool skin, as she would never let them when awake. Little gestures of thanks that went unnoticed to her in her sleep.

With a certain reverence, Bak knelt on the steps by her bower and gently laid her inside, feeling the warm buzz of her realm prickle his arms and set his hair on end. Without noticing his absence she rolled over, unknowingly seeking out the warm heart of her home, to hide there until winter was gone.


	7. Tradition

**7th December - Tradition**

It was an old, familiar setting, one she'd grown accustomed to over the years. Nothing ever changed in this annual scene, no detail was ever missing. It was perfect, still and immutable, comforting and familiar like a cherished nativity tableau.

Anita would spend the day cleaning, dusting furniture and knick-knacks in a happy silence. The room was filled with a hodge-podge of items, some European, some Chinese. Pillows and rugs were fetched and lovingly laid down, fluffed and plumped until her evening bower was ready. As the greyness of the day turned into the greyness of the night, she would stumble outside and bring in bits of wood, stacking them in the rarely-used fireplace. Mahojo was never allowed to help, despite all her protestations. She'd come to understand it eventually. This little ritual was Anita's alone. Whilst she could watch, she could never help.

Then she would light the candles, a hundred little votives that filled the air with the warm scent of plums and spice. Incense lit on an alcove table, the pictures of her mother polished and arranged a hundred times until she was satisfied.

Anita stood in the doorway and watched as Anita turned in a circle, taking in her day's work with a satisfied hum, perhaps fixing a tiny misalignment with delicate movements, relighting an obstinate candle until it was perfect.

"It is six o'clock, madam."

"Already?" Anita whispered, shaking slightly despite the warmth. Mahojo reached out a hand to rest on her shoulder as her mistress composed herself. Anita laid her own hand on top and smiled up at her.

"Shall we watch together?"

Hours passed, wrapped in shawls by the window, Anita's eyes fixed on the horizon, on the road, first looking to the port, then to the forest. When the darkness drew in and her eyes watered she requested a candle, 'so he could see that she was waiting'. She wrapped her hands around the holder, her shallow breaths making the flame flicker and tremble, casting shadows to hide the tired tears. Mahojo sat beside her, without saying a word, one hand stroking Anita's hair in silent comfort.

"Did you know, red is the only colour the human eye can see at night?" It was almost eleven now, the roads still empty, the moon's silver cast seeming harsh and cold compared to the golden warmth surrounding them.

"...So when he comes, I'll be able to tell that it's him."

The candles burned lower, devouring their wax until, one by one, they flickered into nothing. Mahojo found her eyes swimming, drawing closed against her will. She struggled to stay awake for another hour, another few minutes, waiting for the traditional ending to this personal rite.

The seconds ticked over into a new day, the moon dropping low to the horizon.

"He's not coming today." The statement was carefully voiced, carefully non-inflected to suggest a complete lack of emotion, a lack of surprise and a lack of hurt.

"Not today, madam." The statement said nothing at all about sympathy, about love or about pity. They were ritual words, not emotional conversation.

Christmas Day dawned, as it always did, as it always would after this night. The parties would start up again, the drinks would flow and laughter would fill the house, except in one room. The Mistress Anita would smile and flirt downstairs, make up artfully concealing the bags under her eyes, blaming their redness on smoke and on the cold, as it was every year.


	8. Mistletoe

**8th December - Mistletoe**

The halls of Headquarters were booby trapped. No one ever saw him do it, but when the time came round, the finger of blame always pointed at Komui.

The green and white annoyances became the daily bane of the Black Order's lives, forcing them to be completely alert at all times. No one ever knew just when they would accidentally cross paths with the dreaded mistletoe and another person, but Komui always seemed to be somewhere nearby to enforce the kissing rule. It wasn't unusual to see members of the Science Department weaving around the halls, checking doors before they walked underneath, taking convoluted routes to avoid hot-spots and sometimes, avoiding work altogether. Even Kanda, when he ventured out of his room or the training hall, treated every entry with suspicion, eye balling the doorways for any flashes of green.

Miranda was sure that there was something different about Headquarters, but she could never quite put her finger on it. The amount of times she had walked into people recently far exceeded her monthly average. The amount of times she tripped over Komui hiding behind a corner was also up and increasing by the day. Any time she asked about the sudden clumsiness and secretive behaviour of the staff she got stammers, or excuses of being too busy to talk before they hurried away, eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. Komui was no help at all, just putting his fingers to his lips and grinning like a cat until she walked away, confused.

The only person who didn't seem to be acting like the world would end if they crossed paths with another person was Noise. Tired of grazed knees and bruised hands, she strode across the hall to his door, pace decreasing with every step until she was practically walking backwards, a move that wouldn't be considered unusual given the behaviour of everyone else at the moment.

Timidly, she raised her hand to knock, only to have the wood fall away in front of her eyes. Noise smiled down at her, leaning against the door frame.

"I felt you coming." He murmured, by way of explanation.

"O-Oh." She fiddled with her sleeve, staring at the floor. "I was just wondering..."

"Why people are acting so erratic this week?" He shook his head. "I don't know, but I -"

"KISS!"

Miranda spun in surprise, to find Komui pointing at a spot somewhere above her head, eyes wild. She raised her head slowly, terrified, to see a sprig of something green gracing the door's mantle. She stretched her hand towards it curiously, glancing at Noise to see if he noticed.

Noise looked over at Komui. "...Mistletoe... I wondered what you were doing earlier."

"Mistletoe means kisses." The Supervisor nodded firmly at Miranda as she looked wildly between the two for some cue on what to do.

"O-Oh! Komui! I can't... what?"

She stopped mid-sentence as Noise leaned down and kissed her cheek gently. "Oh."

"Finally." Komui put his hands behind his head as he walked away triumphantly to plot more casual Christmas mischief.

_**a/n: Quick! No time! 3 minutes to upload, apologies for misrepresentation of canon!**_


	9. Frostbite

**9th December - Frost(bite)**

White clouds of breath puffed from between Allen's cupped fingers as he huffed on them, desperately trying to warm them. The other limb hung beside him, traitorous and dark, pulsating its warmth in a cruel reminder of its abnormality. He stared hard at the pink and white flesh of his hand, imagining that the other was just like this one, human, capable of feeling the cold that seeped into his bones. He concentrated on the breath condensing on his skin, catching in the fleshy wrinkles, absorbed in trying to forget the other hand.

"Allen."

He glanced up from his numb hand to see Mana waiting several feet ahead of him, the first few flakes of snow twisting around his silhouette as the dusk drew in. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he jogged forwards to his new guardian's side.

"What's wrong, Allen?"

A little nervously, scared of being too demanding, too reliant on the man he loved so much, Allen took his hand from his pocket.

"You should have said something." Mana knelt next to him, gently taking the cold fingers into his own, rubbing warmth and colour back into their icy, cold tips.

"I didn't want to trouble you."

"Allen." Mana stopped rubbing his fingers for a moment, gazing at the boy's face until he raised his eyes to meet him. "Do not be afraid to ask for something if you need it. I will always help you where I can. Do you understand?"

Allen nodded, still embarrassed at having to ask.

"Come on." Mana stood again, keeping Allen's hand in his own as he pushed them into the pocket of his coat. Allen wriggled his fingers in the warmth of his father's hand, as he gazed up at the man's face in mute thought. The two walked on in silence, pulled close together in a quiet comfort as the snow flurried and thickened around their feet.

After a few minutes Mana spoke again. "We will buy you some gloves at the next town. A scarf too, perhaps."

"Can... can we get them big enough to cover..." Allen gesticulated emptily with his left arm, screwing up his eyes in shame at his deformity.

"We can." Allen almost shrunk back at the stern undertone in his voice, confused at the sudden air of chastisement. "We can, but, I do not believe your hand is something to be ashamed of, to cover up. It is as much a part of you as your nose, or your heart or your thoughts. They are a part of you and you can't change them, even if people want you to. Don't. Never feel you have to change or hide yourself for others."

Allen hung his head, afraid he would cry, until the man next to him smiled once more and squeezed his hand.

"Keep walking, Allen. Leave the past behind. I am here now."


	10. Booze

**10th December - Booze**

All eyes snapped to the door as it opened to admit her, the cold breeze slicing through the air and guttering the candles lining the dim and dark bar. She strode into the centre of the room like she owned the place, hands planted on her hips with the air of a woman who meant business. The monkey on her shoulder hissed and muttered as it crawled into the warmth of her hair and hood. She raised a hand to scratch its head as her glare swept the bar. Suddenly under scrutiny, its patrons immediately found something highly engrossing in the glasses and mugs clasped in their shaking hands, edging their chairs surreptitiously away from the beautiful, yet undoubtedly dangerous woman in their midst.

Fortunately for them, her gaze passed over them completely until it found what she was looking for. Her eyes narrowed in disgust as she picked her way delicately across the floor, a path opening up for her between the bar's occupants until she came to the man she was looking for. He didn't look up as she approached, thoroughly enraptured with the pretty blonde on his arm, until his companion broke off her sentence with a squeak, staring beyond his face. He didn't like that.

"Klaud."

"Marian." The monkey on her shoulder growled suddenly, its red eyes glinting in the dark folds of her hood. The girl squeaked again and got up rapidly, almost tripping over herself as she curtseyed and moved quickly behind the bar.

"Do sit. Do you know, this place actually carries some quite fine wines? It's no Margaux but..." General Cross Marian raised a glass to her, eyes half-lidded in the shade of his hat, irritatingly nonchalant.

Klaud Nyne ignored the proffered glass and remained standing, carefully concealing her impatience with the rake before her.

"You called me here for some cheap, rotted, vine juice?"

He feigned shock. "This is not cheap, madam! Rather, it is costing our employees a considerable amount." Smirking, he offered her the glass again. "Call it a Christmas bonus."

She took it with a sigh. "I doubt the Vatican will see it that way, Marian."

He smiled broadly and took a sip of his own glass as she sat next to him stiffly, refusing to let herself relax in the presence of such an inveterate womaniser.

"I assume you were lying when you said there were Akuma here?"

He remained silent, savouring the wine with his eyes closed, arm creeping around to sit round her waist. She shifted abruptly, glaring over the rim of her glass until he backed off again.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"You're impossible, Marian."

He winked at her. "Finish your wine, quickly now."

Curious, she obeyed, staying silent as Cross did the same, before corking the bottle and placing it back under his seat. After a moment's delicate searching in his jacket he pulled out a pocket-watch and held it open.

"What -" He held up a finger, silencing her abruptly. Lau Jin fidgeted on her shoulders, sensing her tension as her frustration with the tawdry flirt grew.

"Five... four... three..."

An explosion rocked the ground and shattered the glass in her hand, sending it skittering across the floor. A warm explosion of air threw her to her feet, ducking swiftly as debris clattered into the tables. Lau Jin chattered angrily next to her, prepared for battle.

Cross appeared barely ruffled, carefully stowing the bottle behind the sofa. "Tch. They're early."

"Exooorciiiistsss..."

Glancing over the ruined chair, Klaud spotted the mangled grey form that had plummeted through the roof of the tavern, struggling to heave itself out of the wreckage of the floor. Civilians screamed and panicked, running through any open door to escape.

Cross grinned again, pulling Judgement from his pocket.

"Early Christmas present, my dear. Let's make it quick, it would be a crime to waste the evening like this with such a fine bottle awaiting us."

She ducked her head, concealing a smile as she activated her Innocence.

* * *

_**A/N:**** Cross would hate me for using such a crude word to describe his drinks. Ah well. Merry 10th people, do you know what you're getting yet? :D**_


	11. Music

**11th December - Music**

His fingers itched beneath the white silk of their gloves. They, like him, grew tired of this tacky, tawdry attempt at _music_. The notes circled him like vultures, soured by incompetent musicians, incompetent composers and their drudging tie to this plane. The sounds buzzed and stung his ears like poison hornets, making him choke on his derisive laughter.

This, this was not music. It proclaimed to be a celebration, a refrain of devotion for the birth of a dead prophet, a joyous occasion; moments of true harmony if the lyrics were to be believed. This, this was nothing. Still he sat politely, gently tapping his fingers together in simulation of polite applause, whilst inside he seethed.

In his mind he stood alone, but for the piano in front of him, dimly picked out by ethereal lights. If there was an audience, it was completely hushed, completely awed. He didn't care. He had no need for applause, for praise. This went beyond simple words, and always would.

Delicately, oh so very delicately, he pressed a finger to a key, drawing out the note like the dying breaths of butterflies. Anticipation sank into the air around him, closing tight, suffocating to a lesser man, a lesser musician. With a swift movement, he scythed his other hand round, slamming it onto the keys abruptly, pulling the music from the abused key like a man drawing gold wire, coiling it, teasing it only to slash it again, constantly moving in blurring patterns of _piano_ and _forte_ that dizzied the heart and stole away the breath.

He'd give them _music_. Their paltry movements barely paid lip-service to their prophet, his, his tore joy from the base of the soul and threw it high and far into the stars. No mere god could catch, could deserve his tumultuous songs. His were more than dedication, more than faith, more than mere worship. With these, he could call down the angels from the skies, raise the demons with his hands, move worlds, move times. And so he did.

* * *

_**A/N:**__** Very short tonight, I'm exhausted. **_

_**Thank you anonymouse reviewers :D  
Kurokama - Fou does not canonically hiberate, it's probably a very silly thing for a defense system to do, but I really liked the image.  
**_


	12. Bauble

**12th December - Bauble/Decorations**

The bauble glittered blue and green tints in the lights, turning gently on the end of its thread. Chaoji blew on it gently, watching its revolutions spin out of control, shattering the light in dancing mirages across the walls and branches.

It was the only one.

The boxes of decorations were more than half empty now, yet only one bauble had actually made it onto the tree unscathed. All around him lay the shards of the previous attempts, mosaics of shattered glass and ceramic in rainbow fragments. It crunched under Chaoji's feet as he stood and walked to the unbroken trinkets to try again.

He had always been a bit clumsy with really delicate objects. He tended to stay well away from glass figurines, or pretty bowls, even expensive plates or glasses. But he had always been able to do this part, at least up until he had got his innocence.

Sighing, he reached into the box, trying to stay calm, prepared and in control. His fingers closed carefully around a red sphere, heat causing condensation to dim its colour around his fingertips. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he drew it out. So far, so good. He opened them again and started trying to grasp the thread that held it up.

CRACK. The bauble seemed to sigh as a rush of air filled the space where it used to be. Tiny pieces of red glass glittered and drifted their way to his feet, one shard trapped between his indelicate fingers. He flung it down in frustration and gripped his head in his hands.

He thought he'd been getting better at control, had been doing so well according to Komui, but the piles of sparkling dust said otherwise. It was just stress, Lenalee had said, patting his arm when he came to her to apologise.

He was stressed, the only seemingly normal thing about this abnormal festival. He had so been looking forward to Christmas, to something he recognised, something comfortable, yet he kept messing it up. His forehead throbbed, tight and hot as he struggled to hold back tears. He stamped on the remaining fragment angrily, crushing it into powder beneath his feet.

He had to control this better. What if he ended up hurting someone?

He rubbed his eyes in frustration and started again, pulling out a star by the string, picking his way across the debris to the tree. He could do this, he told himself. Damn it, he would decorate this tree even if it took him all damn night.

* * *

_**A/N:**** Another short one, I apologise, Christmas makes me busy. Sorry for late review replies as well, I am exhausted. See you tomorrow.**_


	13. Carol

**13th December - Carol** "Triiick ooor treeeeat..." Cell Roron whined over his shoulder, rattling the bars with a moan.

Tyki flicked the card-cell with his finger, sending the golem tumbling over itself. "Wrong festival." Road giggled as it fell into a snow bank, poking it with Lero till it squealed and shivered in the cold.

"Road." The Earl smiled pleasantly enough, yet the warning lost none of its edge. "Leave it be."

Pouting, she left the golem in the snow bank and walked over to the impressive doorway.  
"Are you sure there's anyone home?" She eyed the darkened windows critically, reaching out to prod the doorbell. The Earl's raised hand stopped her with a single motion.

"Now Road, we are acting in the spirit of the season... We start with a song."

She rolled her eyes briefly, but assumed her pose, eyes cast down demurely at tightly clasped hands, lips falling delicately open to form words to her song.

"_Silent night... Holy night..._"

Each man laid a hand on her shoulder as they joined in, bright tenor and bass playing counterpart to her pretty voice.

A light glittered in the window after a moment, belying a hesitant movement towards the door. Another moment's reluctance and a timid maid opened the door a fraction, peering around it as if the world would end if she caught sight of the carollers.

The Noah finished their song with a flourish, coming to a halt as the Earl raised a hand.

"Hello, madam. Did you enjoy our song?"

She glared at a point past their heads, trying very hard not to see their warm, questioning smiles. "I- I can't give you any money... I've got wine in the kitchen though... if you want it..." The maid's fingers were tight against the door, unwilling to give any ground unless they specifically asked for it.

"My dear, wine would be a perfect refreshment. However, we are in fact here to see the Lady of the house."

The maid paled noticeably, casting her eyes around as she mumbled an excuse: "She isn't seeing anyone sir, not since the death of her husband."

"Please madam, I was a dear friend of Sir Arrowell. I believe I can aid her pain, if just a little." The Earl smiled a winning smile. "It would be a terrible thing to leave a lady all alone on a night like this..." The insinuation hung in the air for just a moment, just long enough for his charismatic smile to win her over, for her to start pulling the huge oak door back. Behind the Earl, Road and Tyki exchanged a small, smug smile of their own and walked into the house like they owned the place. Why not? They soon would.

"Up the stairs and to the right, sir." The maid pointed, flushing a little as Tyki distracted her with a compliment and Road with a comment about being parched. The two Noah hurried her down the corridor to the kitchen, leaving the Earl alone in the dark foyer.

He alighted the stairs like a dancer, like a hunter focussed on a prey just out of sight in the brush. His fingernails clicked and tapped on the bannisters with every step forward, keeping the tempo as he began to sing, in a low, quiet voice that sounded like the hairs standing up on the backs of corpses' necks.

"_They looked up and saw a star..._" Laughter echoed from a dark kitchen, a rat's nest labyrinth below him, seemingly a world away.

"_Shining in the East beyond them far..._" The words sank into the oppressive darkness all around, permeating them with an tone of the grave. So appropriate for this living mausoleum, where the dust fell like widows' tears with every footfall.

"_And to the earth he gave great light..._" He paused by a mirror on the landing, frosty moonlight barely illuminating his features, gleaming from rounded white teeth in the dark.

The barest sliver of light crept from under the door, the sound of sobbing throbbing in the dead air, the sound barely reaching his ears, even as he came closer, closer.

"_...And so it continued both day and night. Noah, Noah, Noah, Noah..._" The sing-song enunciation sounded childish, like missing laughter. "_No-ah, No-ah, No-ah, No-ah..._" He pressed his hand to the door, listening as the sharp rapping covered the echo of his words.

"Go away, Helen!" The words were thick, muffled by a hand over her contorted mouth.

"You are so very lonely aren't you?" _No-ah, No-ah..._

Not even a sniffle broke the silence between the two.

"What if I told you... I could bring him back?"

A harsh breath was the only thing that told him she was still alive. Tremulous footsteps crossed the boards, trembling hands reached out for the handle, for the salvation promised.

_The choir began to sing..._

* * *

_**A/N:****I apologise if the formatting goes to hell on this, my net really, really sucks. Many apologies for the cop out prompt as well, but do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with 25 completely separate Christmas words? The carol the Earl sings is called the First Noel, and is rather pretty, when a demonic sociopath isn't singing it.**_


	14. Hot Chocolate

**14th December – Hot Chocolate**

"I'm sorry Komui, there's nothing to be done about it." Reever folded his arms sternly, staring down his nose at his Supervisor's tragic and hurt expression.

"Nooo!" Komui whined, flailing his arms as if he was being physically assaulted. "No more coffee?"

"Not until the new year. Jerry says the shipments were late this month, there's nothing to be done about. Of course if you didn't insist on such a specific and expensive coffee..."

"I NEED IT." He thumped his hand down on his desk, sending papers skittering to the floor from their precarious piles. "Reever, I need that coffee."

Reever side-stepped the avalanche of paperwork with a casual air born of experience. "I know you do, sir. To that end we have found a replacement. Of sorts."

He waved his hand, calling forward Johnny, bearing a steaming mug like a box of vipers. He laid it reverently on the desk in front of him, before dancing back a few steps to avoid flying items.

Komui sniffed the mug suspiciously before throwing himself back in horror. "HOT CHOCOLATE? You want me to drink hot chocolate?!"

"It's very festive, sir! Jerry put cinnamon in it and all..."

"Get out!"

Reever put his hands on Johnny's shoulders and steered him rapidly from the room, closing the door just as Komui flung a book at it.

Alone in his office, Komui sat back to sulk. He glared down at the mug and its creamy, warm filling as if it was just another piece of the vast amount of paperwork he had to do. It was a chore. A test to be overcome.

Festive indeed. There was nothing festive about melted chocolate. In fact, it was a disappointment in itself! Chocolate was something to be looked forward to, admired, enjoyed in its whole and perfect form. Melted chocolate was just a disaster. Hot chocolate, thus, was a disaster with milk. He poked the mug disdainfully, swirling the contents round. Delicately he dipped one finger in, twirled it, and withdrew it. He stared at the cream dripping down his finger. Really, it wasn't even _hot_. It was just mildly warm.

He forced himself to lick it off as it threatened to drip onto the notes he was supposed to be reading.

A moment passed, then another. Seas of happiness surged over his tastebuds, as he tried to battle the siren call to take a sip. He threw himself upward, looming over the mug as if he could stare it into submission. The mug stared back, calling to him with its sinful contents.

Shaking he raised it to his mouth, allowing himself to be defeated in the name of his thirst.

* * *

Reever tried to remain calm and composed as the door creaked open twenty minutes later.

"See? Not so bad, was it?"

Komui glared over the mug and shook a finger at his subordinate. "I want a mug delivered to my room on the hour, every hour."

Reever smiled smugly, waving a finger at Komui's lips. "Got a moustache. Sir."

Komui licked his lips furtively, trying to suck up the last remnants of chocolate, smiling gleefully until he realised that Reever was still standing there.

"I said every hour! It's almost two! Scram subordinate!"

Reever threw a mock salute and walked away, leaving Komui behind him, manically scrabbling in the mug to try and drain the last dregs of delight.

* * *

_**A/N:**** Not so pleased with this one, but it does amuse me. Ever had a proper hot chocolate, with melted chocolate and cream? It's like an explosion of pure JOY in your mouth. Seems Komui feels the same way.**_

_**Thank you to my anonymous reviewers this week. I'll see you tomorrow with another one.  
**_


	15. Holly & Ivy

**15th December – The Holly & The Ivy**

"Brother!" Jasdero pointed in glee at the lumps on the bed. "Presents!"

"From that bastard, Cross? Tch, how annoying!" David reached over and picked one up like a dead rat. "Trying to seem nice when we're trying to kill him! What a jerk!" He prodded it with a finger. "Seems fine."

"What is it? What is it?" Jasdero danced around over his shoulder trying to see.

"It's a wreath."

"A wreath?" Jasdero plucked the other one from the bed, cuddling it to him in delight. "Great! What are they for?"

"Hanging... on doors... and stuff." David held it arm's length, twisting it round to have a look at it. "Looks like holly and ivy and green stuff."

"Oh I like it!" Jasdebi stuffed it over his head to sit around his neck. "It's pretty, yes?" He danced around for a moment, waving his gun. "Where's a mirror?"

David waved him towards the bathroom with one hand, searching the room for some evidence as to where Cross was. He was still searching the wardrobe when he heard a cry from the other room.

"Brother...?"

He grumbled and stalked to the bathroom, kicking open the door with one foot. His gun sight found Jasdero staring into the mirror and whimpering.

"It hurts!" Jasdero danced on the spot, scratching at his neck with both hands and gun, to try and reach the itch. All around the wreath his grey skin was bubbling up into a purple and red rash, already oozing and blistering where his nails had torn at it to gain some relief. "Poison!"

"Get it off then!" David couldn't help but laugh at the comical sight, his brother's twisting and twitching dance to try and get to all the rashes on his skin, hair flying everywhere as he cried and whine.

"Caaan't!"

Sighing, David reached out and yanked the wreath over his brother's head, causing him to squeal and cringe as he flailed. He threw the wreath on the floor in disgust, trying to avoid touching the leaves with his skin.

"Damn Cross!" He stamped the wreath into the floorboards with his foot, crushing and breaking it until its was almost completely destroyed. Jasdero joined in, jumping on the stray leaves until they were mulch, glee almost overcoming the pain of the rash.

"Shoot it, brother, shoot it!"

David stormed from the room in disgust and stalked back over to the bed. "Come on, we have to find that son of a bitch and make him pay!"

Jasdero followed him, making a show of searching under the bed. It was only when he was shaking out the duvet that he noticed a piece of paper fall to the floor. David snatched it up and began to read it. Jasdero leaned over his shoulder, gun casually at his ear as he read it aloud.

"_Noah Boys, Merry Christmas._ Merry Christmas!" He stabbed at the page with glee, until David pushed him away and continued reading.

"Blah, blah, Christmas wishes blah, hope you enjoy your presents..." His eyes narrowed at the casual reference, whilst Jasdero cursed at him from the floor. "They were quite expensive to get hold of. Speaking of which, a lovely man called Richard will be around to collect the bill. Hope you don't mind, found myself a bit short of cash..." The paper crumpled in his shaking hands, "...From Cross..."

"Hee! Bastard! Jerk! Prick!" Jasdero cheered his brother on as he ripped up the paper into tiny pieces.

"Come on stupid! We have to leave before we get caught with another debt!"

"And at Christmas time too..." Jasdero lamented as he pulled himself upwards. "It's true! Cross is a complete demon!"

* * *

_**A/N:**** Just a little bit shoddy. Never written Jasdero & David before though, it was quite fun. :D Just ten more days now.**_


	16. Candle

**16th December – Candle **

They waited. The communication golems lay crushed under feet of rubble, the city empty bar the bodies that groaned and wailed for help in the night. The snow fell day and night, hissing and sputtering as it fell into the smouldering fires that still consumed parts of the city. After two days the cries stopped. Still, they waited.

The finders made base in an inn, still mostly standing, its landlord dead or gone. They packed the food in the snow, to preserve it, and chased off the rats and starved and half-burned cats and dogs that came for it. They got more vicious every day.

At night the air froze into sheets of ice that lay across the windows and chilled the breath inside their lungs. They coughed, harsh and dark, spitting blood and soot from the dirty fires they crowded around. During the day they made forays into the outside, looting, scrabbling for resources from the shattered window fronts of the shops. Sometimes they found the sources of the crying, mouths and throats silent now. They did their duty. They burned the dead and prayed the pyres would bring help, not more Akuma.

The first of December came, bitter like ashes in their mouths as they spoke traditional words of worship or greeting, sharing dirty frozen food. That night they lit a candle, marked with the days, to serve some reminder of hope to those who cared, and of time to those who didn't. They watched the wax melt into the cracks in the flagstone as they talked of what they would do for Christmas. No one talked of family, or of the way the dogs howled closer at night, or how hope faded with the light of each passing day.

The twentieth passed without celebration, one of their number dead and frozen in his watching spot by the door. There were teeth marks on his bare flesh. They said their prayers and burned him too, on the roof of the gutted building as the ice rain came down and burned their skin with cold. They lived like lepers now, unable to get out of the broken city, unable to draw anyone close.

The candle burned for the last day, its last few hours of wax gobbled up by the voracious flame. It died in the dark, the remaining Finders huddled together in sleep didn't notice it gone, didn't notice the shadows or the dying fire.

Angels came, on Christmas Day in the morning.


	17. Log Fire

**17th December – Log Fire - **Reever misses the warmth of Australia at Christmas and insists on having all the fires built up.

The fires roared in Headquarters, to the point of acute discomfort to those bundled up in preparation for the arctic temperatures outside. Still it was not enough for one resident...

Lenalee ticked the boxes on her clipboard as the Science Department scurried around and between the giant log piles, sweat visibly dripping off them as they faithfully hauled the bundles around.

"Faster! Tap-Dopp, pick up the slack there!" Komui posed astride the largest log, more of a tree trunk than anything. "Form a chain towards the back, pass them along! The Komurin v.6 will handle the rest!"

The giant robot whirred in assent, wielding its dual chainsaws like a psychopathic metal lumberjack. Komui cooed at it from his perch, waving proudly at his latest monstrous son.

The task was enormous, roping half the castle into its twisted mess. Even Jeryy got involved, delivering drinks to the sweating slaves, hefting his own share of tangled twigs and stumps in the human conveyor belt that curled and curved through the Headquarters like an all-devouring python. If pythons could curse like the belaboured scientists of Headquarters of course.

All over the place, teams of matrons abandoned their due posts and took their part feeding the gaping black maws of the fireplaces.

Far above them, ensconced in his room, the one this was for was finally waking up for his morning shift, shuffling around in his robe and stoking his own fire as he glanced over his paperwork for the morning. With a smile, he drew a little face in the condensation that was already sweating from the windowpanes.

The temperature increased hour by hour, fed by the constant stream of smiling visitors, holding small bundles of wood. A little bewildered, Reever thanked them and added them to the pile. By mid-afternoon, the air was reminiscent of Satan's sauna. By evening, it was rumoured that walking by the room would cause one to burst into flame. It was even said that Jeryy was cooking the evening's dinner on the flagstones outside to save wood.

Inside, Reever stripped down to a suspiciously cheery pair of shorts and leaned back in his chair. He could never expect it to truly get as hot as home, but it was almost as good. Christmas just wasn't Christmas in these frigid climes. It was just a pity there was no decent surf.

* * *

_**A/N:**** Sorry guys, majorly dropped the ball on this. I'm all tangled up in housing stuff for next year, plus absolutely stuffed with turkey. Major apologies to any Australian readers for gross misrepresentation. I know you're not *all* surf obsessed...**_


	18. Ribbon

**18th December – Ribbon**

Each present had to be perfectly wrapped, perfectly coordinated with the receiving individual. Lenalee tweaked the goofy, round bow atop one little package, adjusting the handwritten label like a mother adjusting her son's cravat. This one was for Komui, the paper ridiculously bright and cheesey, covered in rotund, inebriated Santa figures. They keeled and rolled amusingly as the paper wrinkled and creased around the edges, disappearing into fractals of folly holly and joy. Still, it had to have a black ribbon, to symbolise everything about her brother that only she knew. To mark their grief on this most joyful of days, a little reminder of who they were and where they had come from, despite being across half a continent, and years away from those horrible, terrible moments when they had been asunder.

The next was Reever, a plain but pretty parcel, with a gunmetal silver bow, that made her think of the deep strength inside, the smell of gunpowder that clung to his clothes sometimes, the little quirks about him that so few people knew. Kanda's was an inverse, a white and silver parcel in his very own colours of grief. It was unlikely he would even accept it with anything more gracious than a curt nod, or even think about why she had given what she had, but it didn't matter. Lavi's flopped over the sides of the gift like his own red hair, twisting in an elegant but merry cascade. She brushed it lightly, plumped it up and flattened it down in places until it felt like she had his head beneath her hands, loose strands of hair falling through her fingers.

Ribbons hung in flashing waterfall drapes from her fingers as she wove them deftly into an ornament for the next. White for purity, for his hair, for his innocence lost, purple for his loyalty, for his gentlemanly ways, gold for the luck and prosperity he brought to their relationship. A small iridescent tangle wound around the centre, for the breath that caught in her chest when he smiled at her, for the way he squeezed her fingers when things got hard, for the little tears that she couldn't stop from falling when she thought of his absence and the fear and pain that she could not stifle every time he looked into the distance, red eye rolling at something far beyond her.

She cried a little as she tied the final bow, but didn't feel bad. Each man would treasure her time, her love, the little gift of her own insight with each ridiculous adornment, even if they didn't understand why. With each loop, she captured just a little more of her world and tied it closer to her heart.

* * *

_**A/N:**__** Just another little something, running a bit late because, well, I like mulled wine. There, I said it. Can you forgive me?**_


	19. The Star

**19th December – Star**

Chomesuke watched the stars in the sky, leaning on the windowsill of her current home with a sigh. They glimmered far above the dark rooftops of the derelict Akuma haven like fireflies in a giant web. She wondered if they felt as trapped as she did. She wondered if they ever wanted to move, to leave. Cross had said that most of the stars she saw now were long dead, exploded into nothingness like an organism shot full of the Akuma virus. Disintegrated into dust and debris, but still she could see their light.

She raised a hand wonderingly, until her fingers touched the broken glass, her breath steaming the pane till the lights were obscured. She drew back and then leaned forward again, marvelling in the uses of her own body. She squinted, trying to bring the stars into better view and failed. She wished she could visit them, knowing her Akuma body could only fly so far, so high, but nowhere near enough.

She started to turn away, depressed by the impossibility of her dream, but a movement caught her eye. She looked up, scanning the sky for motion, possibly a higher level Akuma, coming to prey on her. Instead she saw light. Hundreds of lights, star-bright, falling to earth like feathers from a dying phoenix.

Flashing lights hurt her eyes, but she couldn't look away, holding her breath as she watched the stars answer her prayers, dipping low to the earth to fulfil her wishes, so close. Their spectacle brought tears to her eyes, glinting and sparkling with the reflected incandescence. She raised her hands in wonder at the reaction, feeling the water trickle down her cheeks and splash off her white knuckles as she shook.

Sound bubbled up from her chest, taking control of her mouth and throat in a never ending, glorious laugh. Her heart burned, her body thrown from side to side by the uncontrollable impulse. Laughter. The stars had come, and they had brought her laughter.

She fled the building, barely managing to keep under cover, not even wanting to. She ran full-tilt towards the harbour, kimono flapping around her feet. She shed her sandals after a moment, unable to run properly. Her hair flew back from her stinging cheeks until she skidded to a halt, watching the lights fall and crash into the ocean, their wonderful light stolen and multiplied and shattered by the waves. Still they fell. She pinpointed one, descent just beginning and couldn't stop herself. She flung her body into the water, changing as she went. The water just skimmed her belly as she accelerated across the sea, following the brilliant trajectory above her. She didn't know where she would end up, if she could get back, but she knew she had to follow the star.


	20. Roast Dinner

**20th December – Roast Dinner**

_"When everyone returns, we'll raise a banner with the words, Welcome home, and give everyone a pat on the back."_

Jeryy would not, and could not let this request beat him. It was a matter of pride by now, to provide every exorcist with exactly what they wanted to eat, perfectly cooked and no questions asked. As such, the flamboyant chef actually spent a lot of time in the library, but never as much time as he had this month.

"_I'll give Lenalee a big hug."_

He was constantly surrounded by books and paper, thoroughly reading each page, scouring it for any sort of information on how to make this absolutely perfect. He was used to preparing Christmas meals for many, meals from all cultures, but this time was different. Komui himself had laid down this challenge, surprisingly serious for once.

They were coming home. He had been the first to know, to be given time to prepare a feast for their broken heroes. Jeryy did not cry, no one who worked for the Order did. They never had time. Instead he threw himself into the books, seeking out recipes from centuries ago to fulfil Komui's promise, no doubt half forgotten by the promised.

"_Allen-kun will be able to eat as much as he wants."_

It was still a challenge, one that half kept him up at night, working out complicated manoeuvres and timings in his head. In the endless, timeless, soulless days beforehand, he paced his kitchen, personally attending to each fire, to each pot, to each tray. He worked his helpers to the bone, but heard no complaints. They were thin-lipped and exhausted, but still they cooked on. He had never before been so proud to run his kitchen as he did.

Each meal was properly basted, marinated, roasted, pricked, stuffed, wrapped, rolled, sugared and honeyed as it needed. Each portion was tailored to everything he knew of Allen's tastes. He even awoke in a panic one night, remembering some tiny little bit of information that dragged his feet to the banked fires in the kitchen to mix and stir and bake a cake.

The day of the homecoming was the worst. The entire Order looked like they hadn't slept in anticipation. Jeryy threw himself harder into his work to keep them on schedule, stealing teams of nurses to help him, getting them to lay the tables and clean the dishes, fetch him ingredients and bank the fires. Hordes of staff went to the kitchen to dredge up the best wine he knew of, bottles of liquers and liquors, suitable for every palette.

"_The adults will stand around in the party and toast. And, although a little late, Kanda-kun will come in with a sour face."_

They waited in the hall, filled with the smell of delicious food, yet silent of its normal clamour. The banner dipped and twisted, caught in the updrafts of a hundred lit candles.

"Wel-Me..Ppy-B-Day...M...rs-Mas"

No one would thank him tonight, he reflected, staring at the mixed up message. But that was fine. They'd be thanking a higher man than him, for the return of their families tonight.

The doors swung open.

* * *

_**A/N****: Really sorry about the quality of this, I had to drive home today so I'm very tired, and very uninspired. Nothing like miles of motorway to suck all the creativity out of you. Five more days though...**_


	21. Miracle

**21st December – Miracle**

The wind had begun to pick up an hour ago, winding and whistling its way into any gap or chink in their uniform, dragging its chill down their skin and sinking into their bones. The skies were slowly clouding over in bruise colours, the thickening banks looking like fortresses in the air. It was no surprise to them when the snow started.

Lenalee was the first to talk about it. "I think it's getting heavier now." She squinted up into the clouds then across the fields to the blurring horizon, searching for their destination.

"Can you see our destination?" Kanda pushed past abruptly, still walking, hair whipping round the sides of his hood as he made his way to the front of their group.

Allen shrugged. "The eye sees Akuma, not villages miles ahead." Kanda ignored his attempt at a joke and continued glaring past him, waiting for someone else to offer a solution.

"It's getting dark now," Lavi observed from behind. "Wherever the village is, we should be starting to see lights on the horizon... reflecting off the clouds... anything." The group was silent as they digested it, staring along their path for any sign of human habitation.

"Look and walk." Kanda grunted, head down as the snow began to twirl off the ground, lifted by increasingly fast gusts of wind. Another twenty minutes passed, with still no sign.

"Lavi," Lenalee looked back suddenly, pointing into the sky with one hand. "If you got higher, could you see better?"

He shrugged, pulling down his scarf to speak better. "I don't know. If I'm going to, I need to do it now, the wind is getting up way too much."

"If it's too much don't worry, I guess we'll just dig in or something." Allen patted his friend's shoulder. "I brought a pack of cards... I guess I could give you a chance to win back your money from last night."

"No way!" Lavi jerked back, waving an admonitory finger at Allen. "There is no way I am spending the night stuck in a snow bank with you cheating me out of my spending money. I'd rather freeze to the handle of my hammer!"

He swung it from his shoulder and stepped jauntily onto it, saluting the group as they huddled together for warmth. "Stick around, I won't be gone for long." He slowly ordered his Innocence to grow, waving at them rakishly till they were out of sight. Lenalee's blushing face was the last thing he saw before he turned his attention to the surroundings.

His nonchalance hid a serious demeanour as he locked his arms around Ōzuchi Kozuchi, clinging to it as hard as he could, whilst still giving himself room to manoeuvre. The wind chapped his skin, leaving a bitter burning that overtook his face and forced him to blink constantly. The snow drifted into his mouth and eyes and slid down his neck, making him shiver. He stopped the hammer's climb and swung his head in a slow pan of the horizon, straining to see any dot or glimmer that might help them find shelter for the night. His task was made more difficult by the increasingly fast gusts of wind that shook the handle of the hammer from side to side, like a child blowing on a web to dislodge its resident spider. His hands went numb and white, locked around themselves in an attempt to keep himself on. He was just about to give up when he finally spotted something, a light in the distance, dimmed and flickering in the constant snowfall. It probably wasn't the town, just a tiny village nestled between hills but it was good enough for him.

"Head north-north-east," He yelled down, surprised to find that he couldn't even see his companions any more, hidden beneath the whirling snow. Slowly he began to descend, closing his eyes against the wind.

The gust came out of nowhere, and he had no chance against it, hands already numbed by prolonged exposure to the cold. It plucked the hammer from his grasp without ceremony, pulling forwards and away from him as he dropped down into the snow. He hit the ground with a painful thump, hearing the bones in his arm crack in response to the frozen ground. Sharp pains lanced through his shoulder, the warmth of the rapidly swelling limb a shocking contrast to the cold. He had cried out, when he first fell, but there had been no response and there wasn't any now as he yelled his companions' names through gritted teeth.

"ALLEN! LENALEE! YU!"

He cast his hands about in the snow, digging until he found his hammer, shrunk when he had lost it. He pocketed it and shoved his hands in after it, holding his left arm as stiff as he could. He couldn't wield it properly now at all. He was pretty much helpless and he hated it.

"ALLEN! YU!"

He heard his words get lost in the thick swirls of snow, unable to see more than a few feet ahead of him. He couldn't hear anything, all sound completely muffled by the snow, even his own voice. One handed, he wrapped the scarf around himself and gritted his teeth, given no choice but to move on and hope he hit civilisation soon.

For a while he kept up calling out, hoping sound would make it where sight couldn't. He called and cried out until his throat was sore, pushed on by panic and pain as the minutes went by with no sign of anyone or anything. The air in front of him was solid white with sheeting snow. He buried his face in his clothing, covering himself until only his eye was left bare, constantly roving the white landscape for any kind of shelter, or landmark.

As much as he hated to admit it, fear began to rise in his chest. He knew what he had to do, to dig himself in for the night, to stay warm, to get some kind of shelter, but he hated to give up hope, clinging to the belief that his companions were just around the corner, just a few metres further ahead and that if he pushed on hard enough he'd find them and all would be well. He kept saying it, even though he knew they must have done the same now, dug their way into a snow bank until the storm was over.

And then, it was. His mouth gaped in amazement as the wind died suddenly, his shallow breath suddenly not enough now that he had breathing room again. He coughed, shoulders shaking agonisingly as the spasm racked him. He stared around, trying to get his bearings after the sudden change. By some luck, by some miracle he had managed to walk into a hollow or cave. The storm continued mere feet away, the wind whistling straight past the mouth of his shelter, carrying the snow with it. He almost laughed in relief, spinning round until he was certain that this wasn't a hypothermia dream, some figment of his tortured imagination and his body was really out there in the snow, turning blue and black whilst his mind retreated from the pain.

Carefully he laid Ōzuchi Kozuchi on the floor, whispering the instruction with a hoarse voice. Immediately, the Innocence reacted, glowing red for its master. He could feel the heat rising off it, causing steam in the freezing air. He shuffled closer and closer until he was almost sitting on it, basking in the sudden warmth.

Guilt washed over him almost immediately, hot as the faux-fire from his Innocence. His friends were out there somewhere, blinded to all help and hope in the storm yet he was sitting here with warmth and almost comfort.

Still he was powerless to help them now, and even more powerless to resist the other feeling sweeping over him: exhaustion. The day took it's toll, the physical and emotional exertion forcing his eyelids to droop as much as he tried to keep them pried open, focussed on the wall of snow. He tried, time and again, until there was no other solution but to sleep, curled around the hammer. It happened almost before he could stop it, the white turning to black and the concious into unconscious.

He dreamt that Lenalee arrived, then Allen and Kanda. She rushed to his side and took his pulse, fussing and pawing over him. He mumbled something at her, trying to alleviate her fears whilst Allen and Kanda tried to convince her he was alright. He smiled in the dream, relieved that they were alive. He tried to tell her so, but his mouth was dry and his lips were so cracked, that all he could manage was a smile. It worked anyway, relief entering her eyes as she stroked his hair and hugged him. He could feel her shivering under their robes and pulled her closer to his heat source. The dream swam and dipped into something else and he had forgotten about it by morning when he woke up, hands twisted in someone else's coat, head pressed into someone else's ribs. He kept his eyes closed for a few minutes, trying to distinguish the reality. Allen's breathing finally reassured him enough to open his eyes. The snow still fell outside, but slower now, and his friends lay scattered around the ersatz heat-source, fast asleep.

He watched them for a while, laying a hand on them every now and then, stroking Lenalee's hair, patting Allen's shoulder, just to convince himself that it wasn't all a dream.

* * *

_**A/N:**** A nice longish one to make up for the past few uploads. We had our first snow today, it would probably have been a lot more exciting if I wasn't on a road two hours from home. Still, spending tomorrow in when I will catch up on reviews. Only 4 days to go now...**_


	22. Poinsettia

**22nd December – Poinsettia**

Krory increasingly found that something was missing from his life. Sure, his routine was now filled with training, with missions and even sometimes with socialising, but still he ended up sitting on his bed sometimes, unsure of what it was that he wanted to do. It happened more and more as the Christmas period approached, as his daily routine got jumped and changed with the preparations for the festivities. It was in one of his free hours, training cancelled once again, that he found his steps carrying him to the gardens.

He had found them early on in his time here, marvelled at them. Of course as a defensive building, the castle had to be able to support itself if besieged or cut off. As such the Science Department had devoted a large amount of time to the development of hydroponic gardens deep in the underbellies of Headquarters. As specimens of engineering, they were truly fantastic, but they did not reach him as the gardens of his own castle had. The plants were regimented and ordered, grown only for sustenance. He found himself missing the sheer aesthetic pleasure of plant life, the little miracles of life that they were, the tiny differences water and food and light could make to the supporting arch of a stem or the colour of a petal.

Still, in the absence of something to do, he often found himself pacing between the tanks, examining the tanks, talking to the scientists checking nutrient levels. He tentatively befriended them, learning their names and shift habits. They welcomed him, taught him how to follow the system himself. It was after a few weeks that he voiced the uncertainty inside him to Joseph, a quietly confident gardener, and the only man he thought could understand his feelings.

"It is difficult." Joseph agreed. Krory followed him from bath to bath, as the man gave him his opinions like the drops of vitamins they pipetted into the solutions. "Down here, one must learn to see the plants purely as a necessity. It helps, to know that you have to throw yourself into protecting them as entirely as we must. But still, you lose the sense of wonder, the sense of love and get caught up in the numbers and statistics of production."

Krory nodded, watching the scientist's swift but careful movements, checking the tasks off as they were completed. "So, what do you think I should do?"

"The fact that you gravitated here of all places is pertinent." Joseph smiled at his newest helper like a father. "That you chose to fill the gaps with flora is very important, it means that this," he waved his hand to indicate the towering tanks and crops, "is the thing you are missing."

The silence stretched on between the two men, companionable, as they shared their mutual love of their task in their devotion to their work. It was only when the task at hand was completed that Joseph spoke again: "You told me you used to grow flowers yourself."

Krory nodded. "...Roseanne... my grandfather's garden always interested me too..." He smiled. "Whatever their thorns, I loved those flowers, and it was all they really wanted from me."

Joseph nodded to himself again as he bent down to check on a tank of onions. "So you have an appreciation for the art, for the love it takes to grow plants until they are beautiful and healthy. I think that is what you're missing. There is a technique to growing like this, but I would hardly call it an art." He winked at Krory, "especially not to a connoisseur, a gentleman like you."

Krory blushed and squirmed. He had struggled to throw off the stigma of his nobility once his worker friends had discovered it. "...I don't mind the work!" He hastened to add his part to the conversation.

"I know that. Which is why I think you'll like this..." Joseph lead the way to the main workbench and scrabbled underneath it for a plant pot. He drew it out and handed it to Krory, a sad specimen wilting and drooping. The soil was bone dry to the touch, the pot far too small. Krory raised its leaves gently, looking for damage to it with an ease that came from years of practice back home.

Joseph watched him for a moment, approval in his eyes. "I haven't had time to tend to it much, otherwise it wouldn't be in this state." As one gardener to another, Krory could sense the mettled pride in the man's voice. "It's called a poinsettia. Sort of a Christmas tradition. Normally it'd be flowering by now, but like I said..." He coughed to cover his embarrassment. "You won't get it to flower before Christmas now, but this time next year," he shook his finger at Krory who almost jumped back in surprise, "I want to see it blooming. Big red flowers, alright?"

Krory nodded furiously, too stunned by the present for words. This was what he had missed, he reflected as he took the plant to his room, the unceasing presence of something earthly, something natural. He made a note to research it properly when he could, but for now, what it really needed was a name, that little extra bit of caring that only he could give...

"...Adeline..."

* * *

_**A/N:**__** This one was a little weird for a prompt... but I think I like it. I've always loved poinsettias, they're a true symbol of Christmas for me, although I don't have much of a green thumb.**_


	23. Sledging

**23rd December – Sledging**

The two teams faced each other on either side of the hall, pulling intimidating faces, making cruel jokes between themselves.

It had started simply, two days ago, a jest between two friends in the Science Department about who could make the better sled. The jest had turned into an argument, which had itself fuelled a wager. Word had spread throughout the scientists, starting a book of it's own, the wager snowballing into something hugely out of proportion. Then it had reached the superiors.

Reever was remonstrating the team as a whole, furious that they'd neglect their work for a silly bet, when Komui walked in. Komui could smell a challenge brewing, a ridiculous challenge that would get him out of work for at least a day, and there was no way he was going to turn that down.

"You know Reever, their plans are quite sound." He feigned extreme interest in the blueprints, pretending to scour them as if they held the secret to eternal life. "Both have taken into account the weight of the driver, made gains and losses for acceleration, plus both designs are extremely aerodynamic. I think it'd be a pretty close run thing... of course, this team would win..." he waved one plan triumphantly in front of his face, "...because I trained them personally."

"It doesn't make any difference. We shouldn't be encouraging gambling and vice in the Department." He glanced sideways at the plans, in Komui's hands. "Besides, there's some things your team just haven't considered, that my – I mean the other - team have already covered."

"Oh really?" Komui looked at Reever over his glasses. "The only thing your team will cover is their tears as mine wins."

"I doubt it!"

"Yeah? Want to make a little bet perhaps? A little wager, to make it interesting?" Komui was rarely subtle, but his crude jabs still found their path.

"Fine. My team wins and you... you do your paperwork for once! On time! For a whole month!"

Komui drew back, gasping in mock terror. His face fell into an evil grin as he considered his reply. "Fine. _My_ team wins and you not only do all my paperwork for me... but you do it in a BUNNY SUIT!"

The men made shows of horror around them, muttering at the perceived harshness of the forfeits.

Komui inspected his nails casually. "Let's give ourselves say, two days?"

Too fired up to back down now, Reever merely offered him a curt nod, waving his team into a huddle. Komui flounced away, rubbing his hands in evil glee.

And so it had come to this, Sixty-Five pacing to the base of the ramps as a hush fell over the groups. They'd spent half a night bringing in and packing down the snow for this, taking up half the Hall. Exorcists and Finders lined the balconies above, not a clue about what was going on, but certain it would entertain them for a while.

He made a motion with his hands and the teams carried their sled forward, laying them on the snowy plateaus with confidence. Komui and Reever stepped forward, bearing their team number and colours on identical berets. Komui milked the crowd, waving to his imaginary adoring public before putting on his game face and stepping to his sled. Each man got on, steadied by their companions. Stopwatch raised, Sixty-Five counted down their warning, his motions picked up by the spectators in a loud roar:

"Three... two... one... GO!"

Sixty-Five dived for cover as the pair rocketed down their makeshift slopes, cheered on by the crowd. The two jostled for top position where the slopes conjoined, not above ramming the other, expressions grim and dedicated.

"HEY! SUPERVISOR!" Reever yelled over the whistle of their acceleration, spitting stray snow from his mouth. "DID YOU KNOW, LENALEE IS MARRYING ALLEN WHILE YOU'RE BUSY?"

Reever took a small sick pleasure in watching his boss's brain almost completely shut down, teeth gritting, eyes rolling, his hands clenched to his sled. Suddenly he started punting himself faster, crazily swaying over the slope to stop Reever getting ahead. The crowd held their breath, complete silence reigned by the sound of intense sledging from below.

He reached the end with a magnificent swerve, the runners scraping sparks from the stones as he skidded to a halt and launched himself upwards.

"Lenalee! Don't get married!"

He stopped halfway up the stairs, turning to point down at Reever:

"My office, half an hour, bunny suit."


	24. Family

**24th December – Family**

Glassed-in portraits winked and flashed in the darkness of the room, candles flickering in draughts that came from no door. Tyki paced along one wall, staring up into the infinite spaces above, seeing the faces of his previous incarnations stare back with unsettling, implacable smiles. He mirrored their grins, teeth flashing white and sharp in the dark as he tore into the flesh of an apple.

Road lay sprawled under the tree, tapping the baubles with her fingernails, watching her reflection dance and distort in their dark curved surfaces. Presents lay scattered around her, the wrapping luxurious, the contents the best money could buy. The Earl loved his family, yes, he loved them very much, as he told them with his smiles and his gifts and his reedy, croaky voice in song, echoing down invisible corridors.

They all awaited his presence now, in various states of repose around the room and table, enjoying their day of rest from their plans. Their silhouettes shifted in the dark recesses, lit by flickering candles as they sat, patiently. Lovingly.

The fabric of reality parted, and a stream of light burst in from a door that was never there before. In he strode, a vision in crimson and white fur trimmings, gently tugging off his gloves finger by finger. Snow fell from his boots and his shoulders as he shuffled in, bending to fit through the wavering portal. His top hat towered above him, scraping the door frame and almost touching the sides with its brim, overflowing with mistletoe and holly. A long and tangled beard twisted from his grinning chin down to his knees, rolling in white waves over his belly, heaving and moving with his sudden bursts of laughter.

"Ho ho ho little family! Have you been good this year? "

Road threw herself up from under the tree and ran to him, giggling as she danced around, looking at his costume from all angles before finally allowing herself to give him a hug.

"Earl! You're here! Play with me!"

The twins cracked up, falling across the table with laughter.

"Look at Lero! Lero! Lero!" Jasdero wheezed, leaping up to grab the golem and point it at his brother.

The golem grimaced and grumbled, features almost obscured by a bulbous, red nose. David whooped and pinched it until it squeaked like a dog toy, sending his twin into paroxysms of laughter.

Skinn looked over with interest: "Is it a cherry?" He reached over and grabbed at it, as Lero ducked and swerved out of his grasp.

"Earl! Stop him! He's trying to eat my nose, lero!" The golem curved ever higher above the Earl's head, pleading for safety from the insanity below.

The Ear pretended to look about wildly for another person. "Who is this Earl? I am Saint Nicholas I'll have you know, here to bring presents and joy to the Noah Family... This Earl will just have to wait his turn! " He shook his fist at the darting golem, belly and hat wobbling dangerously as he did.

Road turned her attention to investigating the sleeves of his outfit, tugging down the white fur trim to look inside. To her delight, she was rewarded by doves, pouring from the magician's sleeves and vanishing somewhere above the dark room, white feathers floating down through the air to scatter artfully amongst the dishes being laid out by the servant Akuma. Cyril lifted one up to his face and smiled, before blowing it over at Tyki with a wiggle of his fingers.

"How delightfully well-orchestrated, Earl, as always." He stood to inspect the costume for himself. "It suits you."

"Why thank you, Cyril. I used your favourite tailor, you know. Quite a man. "

Arms now free, the Earl grasped Road in a tight hug, leading her over to sit at the table. She wriggled and giggled in his grasp for a moment, until he let her loose to find her place.

The atmosphere suddenly grew sombre, as the Noah moved out of the shadows all around the room to take their place behind their chairs. The end of the table stood empty, no chair behind it, no cutlery in front of it. Its emptiness drew the eye like a gaping wound. Even the shadows seemed to fall differently in that screaming hole, as if it drew them in. The Earl stared into the abyss, his face completely unchanging, as his family stared down into their plates, uncomfortable, sorrowful, angry...

...Emotions quite unsuitable for this time, as the Earl evidently decided, clapping his hands to break the silence.

"More lights! I want to see the faces of my dear ones today! " The silent, grey-faced drones moved forward to light the lamps, until the air grew hot and the room blazed with a hundred candles, dotted in between the platters on the table.

"This is the day of the blessed, a time to make merry, a time to celebrate all we are and all we will become. " He raised his glass in the air, the light shining through turning his face blood-red like his clothing. "To our _family_, and to our _future._"

* * *

_**A/N:**__** Only one more to go now... I hope Santa-Earl doesn't visit me tonight, I'd be utterly terrified! Just one old man wiggling down my chimney please... **_


	25. Party

**25th December – Party**

By the very fact of their existence as a religious order, the Christmas celebrated at Headquarters should have been sombre, quiet, dignified... in short, a primarily ecclesiastical matter. A day given over to prayer and penance, a day-long mass in the castle's corridors. This statement could have been true, _would_ have been completely true were it not for the presence of one man. That man, was Komui Lee.

At first glance, one would be utterly confused as to how this man was responsible for the riot of festive feeling in Headquarters at this time of year. A quiet man by first impressions, a sharp mind, a brilliant leader... and then he slung a holly wreath around his neck and jumped and pranced and skittered around the hallways like a spider on ice. Anticipation, happiness and a small sense of fear ran high in the castle in the run up to the festive season. Covert meetings were had around corners, and furtive trips made into town for gift buying. Plans were laid in dimly lit tower-rooms, dark and hunched figures scheming and plotting, waiting for this day and this day only. Maniacal laughter rang in the cellars and caverns and one lone bauble blew across the prematurely emptied training ground. Of course, somewhere, high above it all, sat Komui, the spider in the centre of his web, completely in control of pretty much everything, kept in the know by his loyal lieutenant Reever. Lollygaggers and scrooges were warned to keep out of the way when they descended from their planning room, no anti-festive grouches would be allowed! Even Kanda made excuses to be on duty or in his room to avoid their iron control of the castle.

The week before Christmas, the silent anticipation was broken by Komui himself, arms overflowing with slips of paper as he danced and ran through the hallways, banging on every door he could find. Those who answered were greeted with a shower of scraps, a booming "Merry Christmas" and the odd and uncomfortable sensation of impending disaster. Hands shook as they uncrumpled the message delivered, eyes rolled back in skulls rather than read the words... the summoning:

**Merry Christmas!**

_**You are invited to a Special Christmas Party, in the Great Hall on December 25th**_

_**7:00pm till late**_

**_Don't bother to RSVP, anyone who doesn't turn up gets to be target practice for Komurin IV_**

**_ORDERS FROM KOMUI (XXX)_**

And so it transpired on this happiest of nights, that the inhabitants of the castle crept from their dorms, from their rooms and from their offices down to the Great Hall, uncertain of what they were about to see. The hammering and sawing they'd heard all week had been slightly off-putting, as had the screams, but these could be rationalised by Komui's presence. Sort of, anyway. They loitered by the door, growing the collective courage to open it.

Bored of the waiting and angry at Lenalee for manhandling him along, Kanda strode out of the crowd and up to the doors, throwing them back with both hands, revealing... darkness... He glared around, angry and bewildered, the crowd pushing up behind him to stare into the darkness in wonder.

Even Lenalee seemed surprised, cupping her hands around her mouth to call her brother: "Komui! What's going on?" Her voice bounced back to her from the corners of the room, no reply but her own voice.

Something flickered in the dark. Allen spotted it first, raising a hand to point it out, but finding himself unable to do anything more than whisper as the flicker grew and drew attention for itself.

"Lenalee... everyone... look..."

It started slowly, like a fern uncurling in the dawn, like frost forming on a window, lights flickering to life one by one in the centre of the room. They picked up speed as they climbed upwards, rushing upwards like glowflies until the final one burst into incandescence. The tree stood silhouetted in it's own glorious lights, a marvellous giant that stretched to the roof, glowing softly with a thousand twinkling lights.

Jerry and his assistants appeared at the side of the room, each carrying a tray laden with candles and food to lay in front of the gaping guests. Tears sparkled in Lenalee's eyes and she grabbed Allen's hands in joy.

"Oh look, look what brother's done for us!"

Murmurs and conversation broke out everywhere, praising the supervisor, wishing season's greetings upon friends and colleagues. Lavi ran from group to group, sticking silly paper hats on everyone, caught up in their laughter and their jokes.

He caught his friends by the shoulders and swung them into a hug. "I can't believe it, he really outdid himself! Have you seen the size of that tree?" Lavi babbled on, pointing out tiny details he hadn't noticed. "A holly garland over the fireplace... have you seen the size of the fire? Once that's lit it'll go for _hours_. And the champagne! I didn't know we could afford champagne!"

Lenalee giggled helplessly, tugged here and there by her excitable friend. She dragged Allen with her as Lavi set about lighting the huge fire and regaling them with stories that Bookman had told him of Christmases long gone. They were so caught up in their merriment that they didn't notice the hush falling until it was only their voices breaking the utter silence. They turned to see what the fuss was about, Allen forced to crane over his friends' heads as they looked.

The music started very quietly, lead by an unknown scientist on the guitar.

"Happy birthday, to you."

Allen's eyes snapped to the doorway, where Komui stood, small smile on his face, his exuberance retained for once.

"Happy birthday, to you."

His lips moved as he sang, the words slowly being taken up by everyone in the room until the quiet hum turned into a song that rang from the rafters.

"Happy birthday, dear Allen..."

Allen stood in the centre of the room, overcome, overwhelmed by the emotion, the camaraderie of the people around him. Miranda was crying, her smile crinkling the water from her eyes as she waved to him. Lenalee was crying too, more subtle, but her eyes were bright as she sang with all her might. People he had only talked to once, if ever, were shaking hands with him, patting him on the back and wishing him well. He wasn't sure what to do, where to turn, what to say, except a heartfelt thank you to each and every one.

"Happy birthday to you."

* * *

_**A/N:**__** And so it's over for another year. I hope that you are all well, stuffed with good food, in the company of good people, friends or family and that this was what you hoped for. I'm very grateful to everyone who's left a review for me, from start to finish, knowing that someone actually cared really helped when churning out one of these a day, if you're at all interested in knowing why I chose to do this, an my personal thoughts on the project, you should hop over to my journal where I will be posting a retrospective rumination on this project: picaropicara(.)livejournal(.)com. I'm quite sad to see it end, but at the same time, quite relieved. Now it's time to sit back, finish my mulled wine and relax, as you all should be doing. Merry Christmas to all, and to all... a good night.**_


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